This section can be seen as something like a book and a film hand-in-hand.
It can be seen as its own art-work that is not repeating the feature-film,
but is an expansion of the universe seen in it.
Only some of this footage (less than 5%) is in the final cut. The rest is reserved for the film alone and cannot be seen here. As I was also writing a book at the same time, I somehow realized that the written stories and the scenes I was creating are walking step-in-step. At times they come from opposite directions, but meet in the middle through the same motif. At other times they walk alongside each other speaking about the same event. Sometimes one walks behind the other remembering how things used to be. Often one walks in front of the other as a guide or a friend.
Together, they tell a story much more complete than on their own.

On Leaving and Returning

On Leaving and Returning

Time is like a mysterious stranger, whose intentions remain unclear. The buttons on my bed-cloth take a deep dive into my ear, the thread holding together the pillowcase forms the same wave as my mother’s nightgown as she walks on the other side of the door. more »

Unpaired Socks

Unpaired Socks

Once peace arrives, one is faced with the second wave of mourning. Once peace arrives, one mourns the loss of oneself. more »

A Strange Evening

A Strange Evening

Sometimes on a winter evening, my grandfather took me along on his daily walk before he would go to sleep. He always reads the morning paper only at the end once the day is over. It was a blue Sarajevo, unfamiliar, that unfolded itself to me in the shadow of the Eternal Flame. more »

More Stories

Further stories can be unlocked by purchasing them three at a time or purchasing all.
The "Purchase All" option only includes the stories you do not yet have.
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Her letters contain both panic and beauty. They bend upwards at the edge of the paper, attempt their balancing act at the border like a tightrope walker moving carefully above an abyss. The sentences resemble her hands that are peeling the apple, turning its skin into the spiral of the universe, eternal and uninterrupted.

New Year's Eve

Why does the 29th of February mark the end of the Sarajevo Siege? Why does the end have to be on a day when time gives itself more time and forgets about its New Year’s resolution? Only the moon does not forget anything and circles the Earth.

Under the Grapes

The roots of the trees are pushing their heads against the asphalt. They propel me higher like a trampoline, and into the leaves that are becoming older, but in the other direction. My hair rustles, becomes branch, becomes leaf.

Her letters contain both panic and beauty. They bend upwards at the edge of the paper, attempt their balancing act at the border like a tightrope walker moving carefully above an abyss. The sentences resemble her hands that are peeling the apple, turning its skin into the spiral of the universe, eternal and uninterrupted.

Her letters contain both panic and beauty. They bend upwards at the edge of the paper, attempt their balancing act at the border like a tightrope walker moving carefully above an abyss. The sentences resemble her hands that are peeling the apple, turning its skin into the spiral of the universe, eternal and uninterrupted.

New Year's Eve

Why does the 29th of February mark the end of the Sarajevo Siege? Why does the end have to be on a day when time gives itself more time and forgets about its New Year’s resolution? Only the moon does not forget anything and circles the Earth.

Under the Grapes

The roots of the trees are pushing their heads against the asphalt. They propel me higher like a trampoline, and into the leaves that are becoming older, but in the other direction. My hair rustles, becomes branch, becomes leaf.

The Blowing Canisters

Every morning he looked in the bathroom mirror, he saw himself as a young man. This is how he knew that it is time to hurry, because the future is coming. Behind him he could already hear the steps and the flapping of the empty canisters.

A Nap

My torn pocket is closing. The angels have filled its lining with my grandfather’s fuzzy blanket and with mystic crystals thawing false histories, returning to a state of chaos, seeking darkness.

The Ferris Wheel

The little box I am in keeps flying higher, my grandparents’ house keep getting smaller, and its shadows keep getting larger. One moment of stumbling at the summit. The box I am in swings in a pendulum. A needle for the heart.

Every morning he looked in the bathroom mirror, he saw himself as a young man. This is how he knew that it is time to hurry, because the future is coming. Behind him he could already hear the steps and the flapping of the empty canisters.

Every morning he looked in the bathroom mirror, he saw himself as a young man. This is how he knew that it is time to hurry, because the future is coming. Behind him he could already hear the steps and the flapping of the empty canisters.

A Nap

My torn pocket is closing. The angels have filled its lining with my grandfather’s fuzzy blanket and with mystic crystals thawing false histories, returning to a state of chaos, seeking darkness.

The Ferris Wheel

The little box I am in keeps flying higher, my grandparents’ house keep getting smaller, and its shadows keep getting larger. One moment of stumbling at the summit. The box I am in swings in a pendulum. A needle for the heart.

Sarajevo Roses

Your false God has broken his vows. Red resin fills the holes he left with his criminal feet.

Message from the Future

The house watches me with knowing eyes. Having foreseen my future if I go in, it tries to warn me. I am late.

The Secrets of Clothes

Our clothes will outlive us. They might remember the smell of sweat of the little boy hiding a piano key in his sleeve sitting at a table in a bar surrounded by men with pipes and dirty fingernails.

Your false God has broken his vows. Red resin fills the holes he left with his criminal feet.

Message from the Future

The house watches me with knowing eyes. Having foreseen my future if I go in, it tries to warn me. I am late.

The Secrets of Clothes

Our clothes will outlive us. They might remember the smell of sweat of the little boy hiding a piano key in his sleeve sitting at a table in a bar surrounded by men with pipes and dirty fingernails.

Freckles

Your long dark coat flows in the rhythm of the long dark rivers under the many Sarajevo bridges. Crumbs of exposed brick fall out of your sleeve and onto my shoe.

Letters in the Sky

My childhood drawer cradles a few, many, abandoned letters, which arrived to me from my future, yet disappear before my eyes like traces left by a plane. I fell in love with them because of their colourful handwriting and the colourful stamps that never remained the same.

A Dark Light

The Akšamčići beneath my feet allowed their skin to shed. Their dandruff mixed into the snow. My toes propelled them onto the cold bed made of secret universe crystals. After all, they are the flowers of the night.

Your long dark coat flows in the rhythm of the long dark rivers under the many Sarajevo bridges. Crumbs of exposed brick fall out of your sleeve and onto my shoe.

Letters in the Sky

My childhood drawer cradles a few, many, abandoned letters, which arrived to me from my future, yet disappear before my eyes like traces left by a plane. I fell in love with them because of their colourful handwriting and the colourful stamps that never remained the same.

A Dark Light

The Akšamčići beneath my feet allowed their skin to shed. Their dandruff mixed into the snow. My toes propelled them onto the cold bed made of secret universe crystals. After all, they are the flowers of the night.